{"id":8811,"date":"2010-07-17T04:34:05","date_gmt":"2010-07-17T09:34:05","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/?p=8811"},"modified":"2019-02-07T20:27:59","modified_gmt":"2019-02-08T02:27:59","slug":"ledouxs-legacy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/2010\/07\/17\/ledouxs-legacy\/","title":{"rendered":"Ledoux’s legacy"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

DB here:<\/p>\n

Every summer Brussels hosts one of the world\u2019s most unusual film festivals. By global standards it\u2019s a small event: it showcases only twenty or so titles, each screened twice. The films are on the whole unknown. The prizes are minuscule by the million-plus benchmarks set by Dubai<\/a> and Abu Dhabi<\/a>. The venue stands behind an inconspicuous doorway. Yet for me it\u2019s an unmissable event, a crucial influence on my thinking about film and my search for cinematic satisfaction.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jacques the gentle<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Young Murderer<\/em> (Seishun no satsujin sha<\/em>, 1976).<\/p>\n

Between 1948 and his death in 1988, Jacques Ledoux<\/strong> was the curator of the Royal Film Archive of Belgium. He made it into one of the cinema\u2019s legendary places, at once Mecca and Aladdin’s cave. On remarkably small budgets, he assembled broad and deep collections. He bought many titles for distribution to local cinemas and schools. He created a public screening program that for decades has shown five different films (two of them silents), every day of the year. The year Ledoux died he received an Erasmus Prize for his services to European culture.<\/p>\n

His early life could have come out of an East European movie. Born in Poland in 1921, he fled to Belgium to escape the German onslaught. He hid in several places, including a monastery. There the abbot gave him work publishing Benedictine books. In the abbey\u2019s screening room Ledoux discovered a copy of Nanook of the North<\/em>. He offered it to the just-started Belgian Cin\u00e9math\u00e8que, and its supervisor, the filmmaker Henri Storck<\/a><\/strong>, offered Ledoux a job. Finding film archivery more appealing than studying science and medicine, he stayed with the Cin\u00e9math\u00e8que. Interestingly, \u201cJacques Ledoux\u201d was a pseudonym; one translation is Jacques the Gentle.<\/p>\n

Not always gentle Jacques in his scraps with other archivists and local politicians, Ledoux pledged himself to filmmakers, audiences, and\u2014a rarity at the time\u2014overseas film scholars. New Wave directors and Parisian critics made railway pilgrimages to Brussels to see films unavailable in France. When Kristin and I started doing research in the archive in the 1979, Ledoux welcomed us and guided us to treasures we hadn\u2019t known existed.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>Unlike the very public Henri Langlois, Ledoux worked best behind the scenes. Probably most cinephiles today know him only from his brief appearance as one of the sinister experimentalists in La Jet\u00e9e<\/em> (1961). He resisted being photographed, and he refused to wear a necktie. Unsurprisingly, he admired directors who strayed from the beaten path. He created the first festival of experimental cinema at Knokke-le-Zoute, in 1949.<\/p>\n

His desire to widen everyone\u2019s knowledge of cinema found another outlet when he created the Prix l\u2019Age d\u2019or\/ Prijs l\u2019Age d\u2019or<\/strong> in 1958. It was aimed to reward, as Ledoux put it, \u201ca film that, by questioning taken-for-granted values, recalls the revolutionary and poetic film of Luis Bu\u00f1uel, L\u2019Age d\u2019or<\/em>.\u201d Ledoux wanted to encourage a cinema that was subversive in both content and form.<\/p>\n

The first prizes were given within the framework of the Knokke event: in 1958, to Kenneth Anger; in 1963, to Claes Oldenberg; in 1967 to Martin Scorsese (for The Big Shave<\/em>). In 1973, the prize assumed something close to its current form. Several films were screened for the public, and the award, now in the form of cash, was decided by a jury system. The first winners were W. R.: Mysteries of the Organism<\/em> (in 1973); Borowczyk\u2019s Immoral Tales<\/em> (1974); Raul Ruiz\u2019s Expropriation<\/em> (1975); Angelopoulos\u2019 Traveling Players<\/em> (1976); Hasegawa Kazuhiko\u2019s Young Murderer<\/em> (1977); and Antoni Padros\u2019 Shirley Temple Story<\/em> (1978).<\/p>\n

The winners emerged from a vast and powerful field of competition. In 1973, the first formal year of L’Age d’or, there were sixty-nine films screened, including Aguirre, the Wrath of God<\/em>, Oshima\u2019s Ceremonies<\/em>, Paul Morrissey\u2019s Heat<\/em>, Tout va bien<\/em>, and works by Rosa von Praunheim, Wim Wenders, and Mikl\u00f3s Jancs\u00f3. There was even The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie<\/em>, but Bu\u00f1uel didn\u2019t win a prize named after his own film! The number of titles dropped a little as the years passed, but it\u2019s good to know that in 1978 Assault on Precinct 13<\/em>, Eraserhead<\/em>, Perceval le Gallois<\/em>, and films by Ruiz, Litt\u00edn, and Schroeter were in the competition.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Cin\u00e9-Discoveries<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

City of Sadness <\/strong>(Hou Hsiao-hsien, 1989); screened at Cined\u00e9couvertes 1990.<\/em><\/p>\n

Things changed a bit after 1979. The L’Age d’or criteria were modified to identify \u201cfilms that by their originality, the singularity of their viewpoint, and their style [ecriture] deliberately break from cinematic conformity.\u201d For whatever reasons, hard-edged subversive cinema was harder to come by. In the meantime, the Prix was absorbed into a broader festival Ledoux launched in 1979, Cin\u00e9d\u00e9couvertes<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

Cin\u00e9d\u00e9couvertes became a \u201cfestival of festivals.\u201d It culled its selection from films that had been screened at Rotterdam, Berlin, Cannes, Venice, and other events. What set Cin\u00e9d\u00e9couvertes apart was its determination to expand film culture. \u00a0All the films on the program had no Belgian distribution. Each cash award (today, two of 10,000 euros each) would go not to the filmmaker but to a distributor willing to pick up the film. This is a very tangible way to help films of quality find a local audience.<\/p>\n

Over the last ten years, Cin\u00e9d\u00e9couvertes has awarded prizes to Audition, Chunhyang, Werckmeister Harmonies, Oasis, Tropical Malady, Day Night Day Night, Mogari no Mori, Afterschool<\/em>, and Police, Adjective<\/em>. The L\u2019Age d\u2019or prize has been given to Aoyama\u2019s Eureka<\/em>, Reygadas\u2019 Jap\u00f3n<\/em>, Encina\u2019s Hamaca Paraguay<\/em>, Balabanov\u2019s Cargo 200<\/em>, and several others. Not every film has been picked up for local distribution, but the impulse to elevate films that go beyond the obvious festival favorites has continued. Ledoux\u2019s successor as curator, Gabrielle Claes<\/strong>, has maintained the legacy of L\u2019Age d\u2019or and Cin\u00e9d\u00e9couvertes. The July festival flourishes in the Cinematek’s newly rebuilt complex and in its other venue, the lovely postwar-moderne building in the Flagey neighborhood.<\/p>\n

The annual Brussels event helped me find my way through modern cinema. There I saw my first Kiarostami (Where is My Friend\u2019s Home?<\/em>), my first Tarr (Perdition<\/em>), my first Hou (Summer at Grandpa\u2019s<\/em>), my first Oliveira (No; or, the Vainglory of the Commander<\/em>), my first Sokurov (The Second Circle<\/em>), my first Kore-eda (Maborosi<\/em>), my first Panahi (The Mirror<\/em>), my first Jia (Xiao Wu<\/em>). The Cinematek\u2019s talent-spotters were quick to find many of the most important filmmakers of the 1980s and 1990s, and I\u2019ll be forever grateful for their acumen. After I saw these films and many others here, my ideas about cinema got more cogent and complicated. My life got better, too.<\/p>\n

Now most of these filmmakers find commercial distribution in Belgium, so Gabrielle\u2019s scouts must scan new horizons. This year as usual Cin\u00e9d\u00e9couvertes boasted some familiar names like Iosseliani, Wiseman, Guzman, and the eternal troublemaker Godard. But there are also filmmakers from Costa Rica, Sri Lanka, Ireland, Peru, Colombia, and Ukraine.\u00a0 The landscape of film is vast, as Ledoux always reminded us, and a small festival can nonetheless open windows wide.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mind games, or just games<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Elbowroom.<\/em><\/p>\n

Psychology is at the center of festival cinema. Deprived of car chases and exploding buildings, arthouse filmmakers try to track elusive feelings and confused states of mind. That this can be dramatically engaging in quite a traditional way, as was shown by one of the Cin\u00e9d\u00e9couvertes winners, How I Ended This Summer<\/strong><\/em>.<\/p>\n

Director Aleksei Popogrebsky puts two men on a desolately beautiful island in the Arctic. They\u2019re initially characterized by the way they execute the routines of measuring weather conditions. Sergei, the stolid older one, is soaked in the ambience of the place, enjoying fishing and boating while insisting on exactness in the log. Pasha is a summer intern, a little careless because he’s exhilarated by the atmosphere: he\u2019s introduced first taking a Geiger-counter reading but then hopping and racing along a cliff edge to the beat of his iPod.<\/p>\n

Soon, though, Pasha must give Sergei a piece of bad news that comes in over the radio. Out of awkwardness, fear, refusal of responsibility, and other impulses, he avoids telling his mentor. The consequences are unhappy for each. The film takes on the suspense of a thriller, with conflicts surfacing in a cat-and-mouse game at the climax. Yet before that, more subtly, we have watched several tense long takes of Pasha\u2019s face as he tries to cover up his failures. Not surprisingly, How I Ended This Summer<\/em> won one of the two Cin\u00e9d\u00e9couvertes prizes. It is an engrossing case for character-driven, locale-sensitive cinema.<\/p>\n

Elbowroom<\/strong><\/em> tackles psychology from a more opaque and disturbing angle. With no exposition or backstory, we\u2019re plunged into an institution for the handicapped. During the first ten minutes, without dialogue, a handheld camera lurks over the shoulder of a young woman who tries with twisted fingers to apply lipstick. Soon she is preparing to have sex with another inmate, and after their liaison she is whacking her feeble roommates, who sob under her blows. Eventually we\u2019ll recognize this introduction as a summary of her days: fighting with others, being coaxed or berated by staff, meeting her lover, and taking up cleaning tasks. Only far into the film will we learn about how she got here and what her fate will be.<\/p>\n

Soohee, stricken with cerebral palsy, is played by a young woman with a milder disease. Very often the camera doesn\u2019t let us see her face, fastening instead on a \u00be view from behind. This seems to me partly a matter of tact, but its ultimate effect is to force us to infer Soohee\u2019s state of mind from her behavior. The visual narration remains resolutely outside the character. Psychology gets reduced to gestures\u2014 spasmodic smearing of lipstick, the clasping of a necklace, the seizure of a baby doll (with which she\u2019s bribed). Only at the end does a long held close-up of Soohee\u2019s twitching, smiling face give us fairly direct access to her feelings. Despite the smile\u2014which can be read as a sort of perverse victory for her\u2014Soohee isn\u2019t the noble victim; we\u2019ve seen her petty and selfish side already.<\/p>\n

This trip into a world most of us haven\u2019t seen before is presented without conventional pieties, and it\u2019s unsettling. Elbowroom<\/em>, Ham Kyoung-Rock\u2019s first feature, offers the sort of challenge to aesthetic and moral conventions that the L\u2019Age d\u2019or Prize was designed to encourage. The film won it.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>Characters\u2019 psychological developments can also be brought out by parallel construction. A willful little girl and a scientist cross paths in Paz F\u00e1brega\u2019s Cold Water of the Sea<\/strong><\/em>. Karina is on a beach holiday with her family and insists on wandering off at intervals. Marianne is a medical researcher, here for a vacation with her boyfriend. When Marianne finds Karina asleep along the road one night, the girl claims that her parents are dead and that her uncle abuses her. But next morning she\u2019s gone, and fears for her safety are only the first of several anxieties that haunt Marianne\u2019s holiday. While Karina incessantly bedevils her mother and makes mischief with other kids, Marianne descends into ennui as she watches her boyfriend devote his time to selling a piece of family property.<\/p>\n

Once more Rossellini\u2019s Voyage to Italy<\/em> proves to be a template for festival cinema. What is wrong with Marianne goes beyond her diabetes: she feels bored and useless. But while Rossellini adhered primarily to the viewpoints of his dissolving couple, Fabrega opens out the portrayal of upper-class anomie by intercutting episodes from the lives of working-class families. The film has two fully-developed protagonists, with Karina\u2019s verve balancing Marianne\u2019s increasing torper. Splitting his story allows Fabrega to make some social points (the family camps on the beach, the couple stays in a motel with a scummed-over swimming pool) and to suggest secret affinities between the little girl and the professional woman. Cold Water of the Sea<\/em> seemed to me an honorable effort to let some air into the premises of the standard portrayal of a cosmopolitan couple\u2019s ennui.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Parallels likewise form the core of Otar Iosseliani\u2019s Chantrapas<\/strong><\/em>, another of his celebrations of shirkers, layabouts, con artists, and free spirits. The title is Russian slang for a disreputable outsider (derived from the French ne chantera pas<\/em>, \u201cwon\u2019t sing\u201d). Here the outsider is Kolya, a young Georgian director who turns in a movie that can\u2019t pass the censors. He emigrates to Paris, where he finds an aging producer (played by Pierre Etaix) eager to tap his talent. But the new project\u2019s backers try to take over the project in scenes deliberately echoing the ones of Party interference.<\/p>\n

Chantrapas<\/em> lacks the shaggy intricacy of Iosseliani\u2019s \u201cnetwork narratives\u201d like Chasing Butterflies<\/em> (1992) and Favorites of the Moon<\/em> (1984), the latter of which I enjoyed analyzing in Poetics of Cinema<\/em>. When we’re given a single protagonist, as in Mon<\/em>day Morning<\/em> (2002), \u00a0Iosseliani\u2019s characteristic refusal of motivation, exposition, and introspection creates a more plodding pace. No mind games here. In earlier films, his favorite shot\u2014panning to follow people walking\u2014creates convergences and near-misses and comic comparisons in the vein of Tati. Here the pans serve as merely functional devices, almost time-fillers, and comedy is largely lacking. Still, Iosseliani avoids the easy traps. A Soviet censor bans Kolya\u2019s film, then congratulates him on making such a good movie. When the Parisian preview audience flees the theatre, we can\u2019t call them philistines. Kolya\u2019s movie, despite its stylistic debt to Iosseliani\u2019s own films, looks awful. In the end, even cinema seems less important than smoking, drinking, eating, and, above all, loafing.<\/p>\n

It was a documentary, Nostalgia de la Luz<\/strong><\/em> by Patricio Guzm\u00e1n, that won the second Cin\u00e9d\u00e9couvertes prize. It starts as a memoir of Guzm\u00e1n\u2019s fascination with astronomy, explaining that the unusually clear skies of Chile have attracted researchers who want to probe the cosmos. Because the light from heavenly bodies takes a long time to reach us, Guzm\u00e1n casts his observers as archeologists and historians: \u201cThe past is the astronomer\u2019s main tool.\u201d This is the pivot to the film\u2019s main subject, the search for the disappeared under the US-installed dictator Pinochet.<\/p>\n

The analogies rush over us. The enormity of the universe is paralleled by the immensity of Pinochet’s oppression of his country. Captives in desert concentration camps learned astronomy, but eventually they were forced inside at night; the skies’ hint of freedom threatened the regime. Some of the astronomers are friends or relations of the disappeared and see research as therapeutic, putting their personal sufferings in a much more vast cycle of change. Above all there are the old women who patiently scour the desert for traces of their loved ones. A woman tells of finding her brother\u2019s foot, still encased in sock and shoe. \u201cI spent all morning with my brother\u2019s foot. We were reunited.\u201d Scientists try to know the history of the cosmos, and ordinary people tirelessly challenge their government\u2019s efforts to conceal crimes. Both groups, Guzm\u00e1n suggests, acquire nobility through their respect for the past.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Taking some chances<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

More formally daring was Tot\u00f3<\/strong><\/em>. This was the first Peter Schreiner film I\u2019ve seen, and on the basis of this I\u2019d say his high reputation as a documentarist is well-deserved.\u00a0 Without benefit of voice-over explanations, we follow Tot\u00f3 from his day job at the Vienna Concert Hall (is he a guard or usher?) to his hometown in Calabria. The film is an impressionistic flow registering his musings, his train travel, and his conversations with old friends, many of the items juggled out of chronological order.<\/p>\n

Schreiner avoids the usual cin\u00e9ma-v\u00e9rit\u00e9\u00a0approach to shooting. Instead the camera is locked down, the framing is often cropped unexpectedly, and the digital video supplies close-ups that recall Yousuf Karsh in their clinical detail. We see pores, nose hair, follicles at the hairline; the seams of sagging eyelids tremble like paramecia. In addition\u2014though I won\u2019t swear that Schreiner controlled this\u2014the subtitles hop about the frame, sometimes centered, sometimes tucked into a corner of the shot, usually with the purpose of never covering the gigantic mouths of the people speaking. All in all, a documentary that balances its human story with an almost surgical curiosity about the faces of its subjects. The Jean Epstein of Finis Terrae <\/em>would, I think, admire Tot\u00f3<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I had to miss some of the offerings, notably Oliveira\u2019s\u00a0Strange Case of Angelica<\/em>. (Fingers crossed that it shows up in Vancouver.)\u00a0Eug\u00e8ne Green\u2019s Portuguese Nun<\/strong><\/em> was screened, but I\u2019ve already mentioned it on this site.<\/a> Other things I saw didn\u2019t arouse my passion or my thinking, so they go unmentioned here. Of the remainders, two stood out above the rest for me.<\/p>\n

My Joy<\/strong><\/em> (Schastye moe<\/em>), by Sergei Loznitsa, is a daring piece of work. After a harsh prologue, it spends the first hour or so on Georgy, a trucker whose effort to make a simple delivery takes him into the predatory world of the new Eastern Europe. He meets corrupt cops, a teenage hooker, and most dangerously a trio of ragged men bent on stealing his load. After an anticlimactic confrontation, the film introduces a fresh cast of characters, including a mysterious Dostoevskian seer. The film becomes steadily more despairing, culminating in a shocking burst of violence at a roadside checkpoint.<\/p>\n

At moments, My Joy<\/em> flirts with the idea of network narrative. When Georgy turns away from a traffic snarl, the camera dwells on roadside hookers long enough to make you think that they will now become protagonists. One character does bind the stories together: an old man who fought in World War II and who now helps the seer at a moment of crisis. The sidelong digressions, slightly larger-than-life situations, and the floating time periods suggest a sort of Eastern European magic realism. But the whole is intensely realized, at once fascinating and dreadful. After one viewing, I wanted to see it again.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

My favorite, as you might expect, was Godard\u2019s Film Socialisme<\/strong><\/em>. There are the usual moments of self-conscious cuteness (the zoom to the cover of Balzac\u2019s Lost Illusions<\/em>, for instance), but on the whole it\u2019s pretty splendid.<\/p>\n

Contrary to what a lot of people claim, I don\u2019t think Godard is an \u201cessayist\u201d in most of his films. (Perhaps in Histoire(s) du cinema<\/em>, but rarely elsewhere.) He tells stories. Granted, they are elliptical, fragmentary, occulted stories, free of expository background and flagrantly unrealistic in their unfolding. Into these stories he inserts citations, interruptions, digressions: associational form gnaws away at narrative. But stories they remain.<\/p>\n

The first part of Film Socialisme<\/em> takes place on a cruise ship. As it visits various ports on the Mediterannean, some passengers learn that a likely war criminal is on board. Then, like Loznitsa, Godard shifts to a new plot. In the French countryside, a garage-owner\u2019s family is invaded by a TV crew. (As far as I can tell from the untranslated dialogue, the son and daughter are purportedly running for elective office.) Finally, in the last eighteen minutes or so, we get pure associational cinema\u2014not an essay, I think, but something like a collage-poem: a busy montage of clips seeking (or so it seems to me) to ask what sort of European politics is possible after the death of socialism.<\/p>\n

Andr\u00e9a Picard has already written a superb commentary on the film<\/a>, and it would be useless for me, after only two viewings, to try to go much beyond her account. I\u2019d just say that the first two stories show the same sort of ripe visual imagination we have come to expect from late Godard. The images are oblique and opaque, framed precisely but denying us much in the way of story information. Who are these people? Who’s related to whom? (Who are the women apparently linked with the mysterious Goldberg?) More concretely, who’s talking to whom?<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Godard cuts among images of varying degrees of definition in a manner reminiscent of Eloge de l\u2019amour<\/em>, but here color is paramount. We get saturated blocks of blue sky and blue\/ turquoise\/ charcoal sea. See the image further above, or this one, which is virtually a perceptual experiment on the ways that color changes with light and texture.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Anybody with eyes in their head should recognize that such shots show what light, shape, and color can accomplish without aid of CGI. They aren’t simply pretty; they’re gorgeous in a unique way. No other filmmaker I know can achieve images like them. We also get entrancing scatters of light in low-rez shots in the ship\u2019s central areas and discotheque.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Just as noteworthy from my front-row seat was Godard\u2019s almost Protestant severity in sound mixing.\u00a0For the first twenty minutes or so, the sound is segregated on the extreme right and extreme left tracks, leaving nothing for the center channel. We hear music on the left channel and sound effects on the right, or ambient sound on one side and dialogue on the other. The result is a strange displacement: characters centered in the screen have their dialogue issuing from a side channel. Sometimes a sound will drift from one channel to another and back again, but not in a way motivated by character movement (\u201csound panning\u201d).\u00a0 Having accustomed us to this schizophrenic non-mix, Godard then starts dropping a few bits into the center channel. But for the bulk of the shipboard story, that region is largely unused.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

We leave the ship with a title, \u201cQuo Vadis Europa,\u201d and now we\u2019re in Martin\u2019s garage, listening to him being interviewed by an offscreen woman. His voice squarely occupies the central channel, with offscreen traffic sliding around the side channels. The same central zone is assigned to the wife and the kids. Would it be too much to say that the working people have taken control of the soundtrack? In any case, although the side channels are very active, the sound remains centered during a permutational cluster of family scenes (parents and children alone, father with daughter, mother with son, boy with father, daughter with mother).<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

This section ends with a final confrontation with the nosy reporters. The overall episode can be seen as a revisiting of Numero deux<\/em> (1975), another uneasy family romance and one of Godard\u2019s first forays into video.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The rapid-fire finale would require the sort of parsing that Histoire(s) du cinema<\/em> has invited. Through footage swiped from many other filmmakers, Godard revisits the cruise ship\u2019s ports of call, investing each with a symbolic role in the history of the West. Egypt and Greece get considerable emphasis, but so do Palestine and Israel. This history is, naturally, filtered through cinema: not just footage of the Spanish Civil War but clips from fiction films like The Four Days of Naples<\/em> (1962). After glimpses of Eisenstein\u2019s Odessa Steps massacre, we get shots of today\u2019s kids standing on the steps declaring they have never heard of Battleship Potemkin<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Exasperating and exhilarating, Film Socialisme<\/em> shows no flagging of its maker’s vision. \u201cHe\u2019s a poet who thinks he\u2019s a philosopher,\u201d a friend remarked. Or perhaps he\u2019s a filmmaker who thinks he\u2019s a painter and composer. In any case,\u00a0Film Socialisme<\/em> will be remembered long after most films of 2010 have been forgotten. More intransigent than most of his other late features, and unlikely to be distributed theatrically outside France, if there, it shows why we need \u201clittle\u201d festivals like Cin\u00e9d\u00e9couvertes now more than ever.<\/p>\n

\n

The home page of the Cinematek is here<\/a>. A complete list of L\u2019Age d\u2019or and Cin\u00e9d\u00e9couvertes winners is here<\/a>.\u00a0Last year, between research and preparing for Summer Movie Camp<\/a>,\u00a0 I had no time to blog about the festival. But you can go to my earlier coverage for 2007<\/a> and 2008<\/a>.<\/p>\n

As one who cares about Godard’s aspect ratios<\/a>, it pains me to use illustrations from online sources, which are notably wider than the version I saw projected in Brussels. When I can get my hands on a proper DVD version, I will replace these images with ones of the right proportions.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

Seeing movie seeing: Display monitors in the reception area of the Cinematek.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

DB here: Every summer Brussels hosts one of the world\u2019s most unusual film festivals. By global standards it\u2019s a small event: it showcases only twenty or so titles, each screened twice. The films are on the whole unknown. The prizes are minuscule by the million-plus benchmarks set by Dubai and Abu Dhabi. The venue stands […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[89,76,82,25,9,95,81,1,12,54,152,111,121,24],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-8811","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-art-cinema","category-directors-godard","category-directors-iosseliani","category-documentary-film","category-festivals","category-festivals-cinedecouvertes","category-film-archives","category-film-comments","category-film-history","category-narrative-strategies","category-national-cinemas-eastern-europe","category-national-cinemas-russia-and-ussr","category-national-cinemas-south-america","category-national-cinemas-korea"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8811","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8811"}],"version-history":[{"count":36,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8811\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":41211,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8811\/revisions\/41211"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8811"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8811"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8811"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}